Icarus
the answer is
not the history
of flight but
a question of
wings a notion
born of desperation
and fright each
quill ruffled by
the delicate tongue
of air can
only reflect this
fortune a dream
but never a
tragedy the gift
of gravity’s denial
Written probably in 1985 or 1986, this is the first poem I titled “Icarus.” After lurking in a drawer for decades, it made its first public appearance here on the blog in December 2017.
O at the Edges 
“the delicate / tongue of air” – speaks volumes!
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Sorry, s/b “the delicate tongue / of air”!
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It was an early poem, but it still works for me. Most of the pieces from back then didn’t hold up, and were tossed. But I still like this one.
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Me too!
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